


Technical Difficulties

by The_Angels_Have_The_Phonebox



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2829005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Angels_Have_The_Phonebox/pseuds/The_Angels_Have_The_Phonebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She spent her entire life studying technology, teaching people to develop and incorporate it, bending it to her will. After being recruited by Dr. Weir to join the Atlantis expedition, it turned out technology had a few things to teach her in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catch My Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, readers! I'd like to thank you all for taking a chance at Technical Difficulties! Straight to business, shall we? This is what I refer to as a "pilot chapter" . It's a test chapter that will determine the future of this story. I want to see how this story is taken by you, the readers.
> 
> So please, for this chapter, I am not just looking for favorites and/or followers, but reviews ! I need to know how this story is taken to, so if you like this and would like to see it as a real story, please review it and let me know! I want to know the likes, the dislikes, the prizes and the criticisms, want-to-see – everything !
> 
> In the other prospect, I will probably leave it as a one-shot.
> 
> **Chapter is without a beta reader.
> 
> Disclaimer : I only own Lana – everything else goes to the creators of Stargate: Atlantis. Lana is portrayed by Lyndsy Fonseca, for anyone who wants a visual reference.

 

She was not a very demanding person – really, she wasn't! Sand storm on her graduating day: fine. Non-stop rain and fog, the air stale and frigid, during her four month internship in England: alright. But  _this_? No; her employment agent hadn't said  _anything_  about  _this_! She had arrived at the office bright and early, as instructed, sat two and a half hours in an empty waiting room only to have three representatives from some faceless corporation come in with a stack of papers to sign, the size of Mt. Everest and "politely", as they had put it, asking her to come with them – with  _guns_  in their waistbands, mind you. Blindfolded in the back of a standard, military-issued military van was  _not_  what she had envisioned doing over the weekend. At last it was warm weather, with the sun shining brightly in the sky, the wind a warm, southern breeze – this was the perfect day to visit the beach.

Instead, the young woman sat, like a high-risk criminal, in the back of a black, windowless van between two strange men. It was unnerving to say the least. When her agent called her, telling her to meet for an interview, she certainly never expected to be led into a black van with a black strip of fabric over her eyes and instructed to keep quiet. Once her panic attack passed – the men assuring her that this is most certainly  _not_  a kidnapping – they took the time to explain that they work for a company that very rarely arranged job interviews. People are normally recruited – typically from the front lines – by people high up the military chain of rank, rather than personally searched, selected, and later invited out of the hundreds of candidates. This was a privilege – at least according to her 'escorts' – which very few got. As it were, she felt anything but privileged; this better be  _one hell_  of a job opportunity!

Agitated, she let out a long, exasperated sigh, throwing her head back as she tapped her index finger rapidly against her knee in anxiety and frustration. The barrel of a bun tapped her knuckles. "The destination is classified, ma'am; don't try it," was her one and only warning – strict and harsh. Internally grunting, she cursed under her breath at her not very subtle attempt at peeking underneath the strip of black cotton covering her eyes. Discrete, yes; subtle, on the other hand… no, she was certainly not too skilled in that area. So, choosing to remain on the man's good side, she gave up her clearly useless attempts at guessing her final point of destination.

Still, she was angry: they'd taken her iPod, her bag of nachos which she had bought at the vending machine, and her cell phone, when it rang out shrill in the otherwise silent car. It had been her ex-boyfriend, judging by the ring tone, so at least they saved her from having to answer. Strangely enough, he didn't call again. If she had to guess, her assumption would have been that they took the battery out. All her means of entertainment were taken from her, and she was left with nothing but her thoughts and the smell of her delicious nachos in the front seat. She was  _bored_  and she was  _hungry_.

"Uh… can you guys give me my nachos back?" she questioned, her tone full of the irritation she was feeling. "You cheated me out of my seven o' clock interview, and I don't eat dinner. I'm not, you know, hungry or anything." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, a low hiss coming from between her teeth when her stomach growled in agreement. To herself, she vowed to introduce her agent's ass to her foot the next time the two met. This was a cruel and deceiving way of punishing an innocent person. Thankfully though, just then, she felt the large car pulling to a final stop – at last; after three hours of sitting in place, her butt was hurting. Someone – she guessed the man who snatched her breakfast form her in the first place – stuffed her crunchy bag of chips in her hand and she instantly pressed it to her nose, smelling the spicy, cheese-covered triangles through the package, 'mmm'-ing as she did so – oh the goodness of this wonderful junk food had her entrapped in its cheesiness!

Carefully, her 'escorts' led her out of the car; she stuck both hands in front of her, moving slowly as she felt the road with her feet in distrust. They guided her, still blind to the world, towards what she could only guess was some army force building, thanks to the sound of the defiant rumbling of military trucks; judging by the smell of it, it was all a way away from any civilization. The faint sound of bird calls over the several working engines were audible from the distance and the freshening sent of trees was ever alluring and refreshing in contrast to the harsh city air the woman was used to. However all of that soon faded and was replaced by the stale air of artificial ventilation and the echo of long, flat corridors – this she could only identify as a maze, given the amount of turns she was taken through before coming to a final stop.

There was the screeching of an opening metal door sounded a handful of steps before the red-head found herself in a seat – this time a metal one – once again. She cringed, the hard surface abusing her already hurt backside further and moment later the blindfold was snatched off her face. An angry hand instantly flew to her eyes in attempt to shield them from the bright fluorescent lights, stinging her sensitive eyes; she hissed angrily. Three hours in pitch darkness worked its toll on her as her eyes tried to adjust to the sudden change in lighting.

"Svetlana Overlander?" a young man's voice greeted her and she reluctantly lowered her hand, blinking rapidly as her sight came back to her. In front of her were a man and a woman, both of roughly the same age. The woman – approximately in her latter thirties – with chestnut hair, the natural waves coming down only to her shoulders, wore a uniform the young woman couldn't place the origin of: a grayish brown shade, somewhat a camouflage, with two mahogany right triangles on either side of the sipper, which had been left down. She couldn't say the woman was of any beauty, but she didn't look half bad. The man next to her had a very boyish face, the childlike roundness still present, however rough with age and experience. His eye, though young, held great knowledge behind those silly, big, round glasses. Dressed in a military uniform, much like with his female companion, left unzipped made him look more so like a nerd which she was sure he had been in school.

"This had better be on fucking hell of an interview," she muttered under her breath, too low for anyone else to hear. She wasn't going to take it silently if she was dragged out to God knows where, only to be left with nothing and forced to hitch a ride back home. Both the man and the woman gave her a warm smile as her escorts left, shutting the metal door behind them. Once again her mane was said in acknowledgement and greeting, this time by the woman across from her. She broke out of her daze slowly, blinking a few times and shaking her head.

"Uh… oh, yeah, sorry; I was a bit blinded there for a moment." She gave a small laugh, looking down at her hands on her lap before nodding in confirmation, then, once again, added a small "sorry". She shook her head lightly, clearing her thoughts and bringing herself to focus on the two people sitting patiently across from her. "Yes; and it's just Lana," she corrected, giving a smile of her own in return. "It's good to meet you…?"

"Doctor Elizabeth Weir," the woman introduced herself, nodding politely at her. The man next to her introduced himself in turn, as Dr. Daniel Jackson. The name rang of familiarity. Lana straightened up, clasping her hands together in front of her on the table. Her mind once again very much aware that strange or not, this was, in fact, an interview. As it were, she was never one for interviews. In her mind's eye, interviews were nothing but a way to make one uncomfortable with their skills, not matter how good they are. That and the fact that she was a woman – it seldom helped her case. A considerably attractive woman, yes, but male prejudice had always pushed her back. To men, a woman can never be good enough, no matter how many times she proves herself. She had spent years proving her capabilities and her achievements but even now, a decade later, she was still doubted, her motives and abilities questioned.

At least until now, that is. They were the ones to seek her out and offer her a job, granted that she passes this interview. This was definitely a pleasing thought for the young ginger. "I would say it's nice to meet you, ma'am, but I'm not really sure where we are, or the exact purposes I was brought here with." She made sure to hold her tongue, refraining from adding "and I question your methods of hiring," under her breath. "What was it, again, that you called me here for?" she inquired, her brows creasing with curiosity. She was no stranger to military protocol – she knew well about secrecy and how important it was to keep military activity under wraps. But it didn't make the experience of her journey here any more pleasant.

"I have to apologize for the way we were introduced. Believe me, I wish we had met under different circumstances. Sadly, this is the way I met most of my future coworkers." She gave a small, amused smile before schooling her features once more. "This is a military compound, as you may have guessed by now; therefore you must understand – given your area of expertise – how they treat their security levels."  _Military compound, yet her interviewer is a doctor_ , Lana mused to herself, listening on to what Dr. Weir had to say. "As of this moment I can be very brief about what exactly it is that we want from you but know this: I have been selecting people for this expedition for months now and when it came to technicians, you were among the first ones on the list."

Lana looked between the two doctors, confused. She was in no way complaining for the spontaneous job offer, but why would they ask her, an outsider, to take a job? "I'm… sorry," she said, frowning a little. "Please don't get me wrong, but does the military not have its abundance of experts in my field of expertise? I understand the army is not very trusting about outsiders and bringing them in to a base like this so why…?" She didn't have to finish the thought as it was answered at once.

"Yes, that's true; but I'm not the army," Dr. Weir smiled. "Now from what I understand from your file, you attended the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, focusing on Computer Science." Lana nodded in affirmation, schooling her features to calm and collected, appearing as professional as possible to hide the nervousness hidden underneath the trained mask of confidence. She'd learned long ago that anything less than confidence was frowned down upon. "Yes, ma'am. I went to MIT directly out of high school and got a Master's Degree in Computer Science, as well as computer engineering and programming. I was on multiple scholarships at the time of my attending the institute, and started an internship in Washington, DC."

"That's right; and it says hear you were a recruit?" Dr. Weir stated, looking up at Svetlana for elaboration, which she immediately received: "Yes: my internship took place at the Pentagon. Once I got into MIT, they noticed me, and I served a one-year internship course. After completing my studies, they recruited me as a systems analyst and developer. After two years I started on my own project, which caught the interest of the CIA, who recruited me later on – also as a system analyst. My job description centered on the security of the information – i.e. any and all forms information theft (I was on a lookout for hackers). I was also given all resources necessary as well as provided with a team to further expand on it as well as start developing the project I had begun working on."

"And this project was… what? I believe it had something to do with global defense; am I right?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lana gave a nod and proceeded in explaining the nature of her project. "I began with an online chess game program; it was designed to predict the opposing player's moves and anticipate any later action as well as devise several plans of action for itself to win the game. I took the simple game system and began working on expending it beyond just chess. The core programming remained the same but the objective was changed and the system was advanced. My plan was to make it a global digital defense network, created for the purposed of global military defenses. It's a tactical and defensive program, capable of predicting possible threats and giving solutions, long before those threats come up so we can deal with them before they become a problem.

"Because Skynet worked out so well," Dr. Jackson intercepted with an air of humor. The young woman gave a short laugh, turning her gaze to her lap before looking back up.

"The idea wasn't bad, Dr. Jackson; Cyberdyne Systems would have been a success had the programmer taken in the fact that it is in the computer's nature to learn. A chess game's sole purpose is to learn its opponent and devise against them. Once it saw the humans as the danger, it did the one thing it knew how to do: defend. I developed the already existing idea and product to a point where that "survival instinct" is nonexistent – we need the computer ensure our survival, not its own, important as that may be; such behavior is a flaw in the system which can lead to a very much 'Terminator' scenario.

"My goal is not to have it defend itself – or us, for that matter – as it is to warn us of potential threats and provide evasive as well as defensive strategies. With the access to the largest database on the planet, it can devise and interpret the different solutions to the various problems. The AI  _can_  be built as spyware but that will, of course, need further development. That and it wasn't the original plan for it. I used the basic elements of a simple computer game, and created a hybrid of that, along with the already existing basic software used by the FBI, CIA, NSA, and DIA to track down targets, find specific information on the Net, and calculate multiple strategies for any given problem, no matter how unsolvable. Its goal is to find future problems before they become problems so we can solve them before they arise," Lana explained in an even, monotone voice, regardless of the existent she was feeling over this. Working on the project for over three years, it had become her pride and joy.

"I see; thank you," Dr. Weir told her, smiling a little at the younger woman. "Why was the project cut?"

"It wasn't cut, per say," Lana hurried to clarify. "It's on temporary hold. Unfortunately, the technology I have in mind for this project is not quite sophisticated enough as of this moment. This idea has been in the working for three years, and only six months ago, the development had begun. Sadly, out modern technology – even with the resources money has provided me with – is simply not enough. I can write a system sophisticated enough on my own time, but it will take the time I do not have and the resources I am not granted. My team consists of some of the brightest, most loyal people I have ever met but even they are not trained enough for this. I'm afraid the project will have to be put on hold, waiting for its time to shine once technology is ready for it. For several months I have been pushing to be granted more time and resources for it but as far as it goes, this is my personal project and I am responsible for it and whatever expenses it takes up. At this point in time, not only are we not advanced enough for this vision to come to be, but I also can't quite afford it – yet."

"Oh, I understand," Dr. Weir said with a curt nod. "Thank you. And I understand you had another project in the making?" Svetlana shook her head, no.

"It's not a project yet – rather… an idea, for the lack of a better term. In fact, "idea" is also too strong a word. Most like… a vision, which had come from my current project. As you said, Dr. Jackson," she said, gesturing to the man in front of her politely, "Skynet was a fine – however much fictional it may have been – example of such powerful technology growing too sophisticated and taking measures in defending itself. As per control measures, I was seeing a neural interface. I understand this idea has already been explored and proved a bit beyond our field of capability but I don't believe it is really that impossible. Mindreading computer is not as complicated to develop, granted the calculations are accurate and we have the equipment necessary. There isn't even a blueprint idea yet, but I was hoping that by the time I start further development on my project, I will be able to start figuring out where exactly I am going to take it. Much like with my project, I was hoping to take already existing material and meld it together, as well as add my own through hybrid engineering."

Dr. Weir nodded in understanding, flipping through the folder in front of her. "Your file is quite impressive; you finished high school at sixteen, went to MIT for four year and had a job established in the Pentagon as a system analyst by the time you were twenty. At twenty two you were recruited by the CIS, and started a project which, by the sound of it, will grow to rival anything we have today. I have to say I see a lot of potential in that. I had one of my people look into your research and he's… intrigued, shall we say – which is the closest, I believe, he has ever come to impressed with someone else's work. Tell me this: with the right equipment and technological development, would you be able to write, design, and develop a neural interface program for, say, a military jet?"

Lana gave a single nod before going into the explanation of what such a program would require. "We are still years behind on the needed advancements, but the potential of such technology is… unlimited. Theoretically, manual labor can be pushed into history entirely. Given the right materials, yes; I believe I would. But it would take years in the least. Such calculations would have to be very precise, and there are a lot of potential dangers with such technology as it would require high concentration on the exact command. But it's very much possible."

"This is the exact reason you were recommended, Ms. Overlander. In your file, it says you believe that everything comes down to computers. Why is that?"

"Well, doesn't it? In essence,  _we_  are computers. The human brain is, by far, the most sophisticated supercomputer on the planet. It processes trillion of bits of data every second, taking care of every single aspect of our very existence and constantly works to come up with ideas – improvements not only to it, but to everything around us. If it can do all it does, then what's to say everything else can't? The human mind, in my mind's eye, is what perfection is and in our struggle to reach this perfection, we turn to the only substitute to it we can come up with: a computer. Everything we make is the product of the most incomparable computer to have ever existed and I think that that is exactly what we need to strive for. If we put our mind to it, tomorrow we can develop technologies far beyond our only imagination today. The potential is unlimited, and the knowledge is the greatest prize; wouldn't you say?"

"I sure would," Dr. Jackson said with a small nod. "Tell me: what do you think of this?" Pulling a brown file folder from an envelope in front of him, carefully handing it directly to Lana, who took it without hesitation, a hundred questions spinning through her mind at ten mile per second. What was this? A psychological test? By  _God_  she hated those. Or was it a formula – a software programming outline to test her knowledge. She decided she'd never find out unless she actually  _opened_  the folder and looked inside – Lana came to this conclusion once she realized she was staring at the thick, coffee-colored paper for a while, motionless.

Hesitantly, she opened it, her eyes instantly finding a language she knew all too well, and loved beyond anything else. A small smile crossed her lips as her eyes read the nonsense scattered among the page in random numbers and Greek letters, creating a story of their own. Her smile soon dropped, along with her jaw as she scanned over the pages she flipped through slowly, tentatively. Physics she was friends with; for that she was grateful. History, Geography, Physical Education – and really anything that dealt with politics or physical exercise – and she had never belonged in the same sentence; she was at home among number and the Greek alphabet.

"This… can't be right," she murmured, hardly loud enough to be heard as she flipped on of the paged back and forth, inspecting its contents. "There must be some sort of mistake; this… what is this? These… these are blueprints of a light speed engine. I'm no mechanic, but I know the impossible when I see it. This… this is  _lightyears_  – forgive the pun – ahead of anything we've even come  _close_  to building, in terms of spaceflight. This is for a computer simulation of a… light speed engine. How'd you-?"

Elizabeth Weir made a soft humming sound as she said "impressive," to the young techy, taking the file folder from her. Lana's hand lingered on the folder longer than necessary, following it back to its owner in the hunger to study it further. "Can you build a computer simulation of this?"

"Yes, of course. An engine is, in essence, computer operated so I can probably even build the control panel. Who wrote this? It's amazing! I never thought about it, but if we had the knowledge to build it, it can and  _will_  work. System maintenance would require a lot of training, but if we can build something like this, I believe by then a computer would be able to do everything without any human intervention! This is… incredible!"

"Yes, it definitely is," Dr. Weir agreed with a small nod. "Your insight on this is quite impressive as well for someone who…" she flipped through the file once more, tilting her head as she read, "'can't name more that a door, when it comes to mobile machinery'." Lana bit he lip in embarrassment, surprised that her lack of knowledge of cars was in that folder along with everything else. Not the best impression on her possible future boss. "I've studies your working history and noted one thing in common with everyone you have ever worked for: you don't take no for an answer."

"Uh, actually," Lana corrects, lifting a finger to correct the older woman, "I see "no" as more of a challenge then a refusal," she explained.

"So you aren't good at taking orders." The assumption is understandable; anyone would jump to that conclusion. But it is not an accurate one and Lana was quick in correcting it. "I am good at taking orders," the young woman countered, stressing 'am' to make a point of her replay. "Except for that "no" is never the answer. There is always more you can do; I'm simply the one willing to do it, not the one mindlessly going with whatever it is she is told." Her two companions exchange a knowing look.

"I see," the elder woman gave her a small, confirming nod and continued to look at the file in her hands. "And I take it that, as far as what you'd told us, you work alone or in a small group?"

"Naturally, my job description includes a lot of time spent alone or in a small group, working quietly. But group work is not an issue. I'm just as comfortable with people as I am alone," is the ginger's reply – although twisting the truth a little. Working with people was just fine, but solitude and silence at a workplace was always preferable. As much as other people may see what she did not, she was always the one to answer when the work of one – or lack thereof – affected the entire team. She didn't want to lose her job thanks to the one person not responsible enough to complete a single task.

"And your solitary project: how did your superiors respond?"

"They were hesitant at first, calling it too farfetched. But once I had shown them what I am capable of, and that this project  _is_  in my abilities, they contacted the people who needed to clear it. There was some argue over whether or not it was worth the money spent. When it showed its potential and I showed my capability, I was given the resources necessary for the development of this project. I was allowed to select my own team, as long as the project didn't get in the way of their work." The now forgotten bag of nachos crunched loudly in the otherwise silent room when Lana went to cross her legs. Jumping at the sudden should, she gave a small whimper of surprise and looked down at the package; looking back up at her interviewer, she gave an apologetic look, which was returned with a dismissive shake of the woman's head.

"I was cheated out of breakfast; sorry," Lana said quietly, giving a sheepish look as she clarified as to why she had brought the crunchy snack along with her. A simple "It's alright," was her answer.

As the interview progressed, the questions grew fewer and the warnings grew frequent. Not strict, personal warnings so much as military protocol clarification in a rather hard manner. "Ms. Overlander, the people I work with can be described as perfectionists; in a long stretch, sure, but they like it very much when things are done right, done fast, and done their way. As you know, I cannot disclose anything to you, save from the vague comments I have dropped during out conversation. There are many things that need clarifying and whether you take this job or not isn't just up to me, but up to you as well. The job I'm offering you is… far from here, for the lack of a better word and should we hire you, it will all be explained further. But your participation is not mandatory. As I said: I have a list. There are people before you, and there are people after you." She got up, straightening her coat. "Please follow me," were the only instructions Lana got. Not needing to be told twice, she followed, getting up and going after the woman, out the door.

The bleak, beige hallway sent an unpleasant feel of enclosure down her spine as she stepped out of the brightly lit room and into the chilled corridor, noting the two guards on either side of the door. When her previous companions were nowhere in sight, she felt very much relieved. The unpleasant vibe she got from them was not one she preferred feeling. As the woman lead her carefully, slowly through the corridor, Dr. Weir's feet making their way someplace on their own, having learned the path long ago, she spoke. "Ms. Overlander, you have been recommended – several times over, for that matter, and form various powerful people in the military forces – for several reasons, one of which being your open-mindedness and ability to "think outside the box" when it came to technological development and incorporation of said technology into out defense systems and the everyday life of the general public. Your development of the AI you are working on is very impressive work, especially someone as young as yourself.

"This is a very important skill to master in the area I'd like you to work in. It also helps that you have the military training that most staff require here. The area you will be working on is…  _different_  from your typical system security checks and technological study and advancements," the doctor allowed, emphasizing 'different' as much as she could, without giving anything away. Underneath her feet, Lana felt the ground humming slightly – like a router, it was barely present, the vibrations only felt by those who know the feeling and how to look for it. Her brows creased for a brief moment, hoping Dr. Weir didn't see her in her peripheral vision.

"If it were up to the people I work with," she said bluntly, not easing the fact one bit, "they wouldn't hire anyone outside the need-to-know circle of trusted military personnel." She stopped and turned to the recruit sharply, causing the young girl to walk right past her, catching herself several steps to late. "Thankfully, it isn't. The program is run by a doctor, not a General therefore it is up to me to decide who to take. I need a fresh eye on things, one not trained to think of nothing but defense and weaponry – the eye of a civilian, sharing my dream to explore, rather than militarize. I need people like you." The redhead felt herself swell with selfish pride that her skills were finally being appreciated – by a woman, no less, meaning that there is still hope for the world.

"Still, I have to warn you that everything we do here stays  _strictly here_. They didn't want me to bring you here and disclose any sort of information to you and in that aspect they have control over me. I may be the organizer of this project, but I answer these people. They trust me to make the right choices about the people I hire and this being the…  _beyond_  classified facility-"

Lana raised her hand quickly, politely bringing the woman's attention to her and what she had to say, her forearm pressed to her bicep as she smiled knowingly. She had dealt with this all her life; she knew all about secrecy and protocol – her father is a First Lieutenant, after all. "Dr. Weir, I understand the fact that I am an evident security risk – an extra component in an already complete system unit. They fear I can compromise the system. Don't worry, ma'am: whatever you don't want me to see, I don't," she assured, covering her eyes with her raised hand. The doctor turned her head to the side a fraction, frowning. "I was sworn to secrecy before I was brought here." She made a zipping motion over her lips, sealing them into silence as she remembered the stack of paper that was dumped before her, along with a black pen. All Lana knew for certain at this point in time was that she wouldn't be writing much in the near future. In fact, as they say that it takes thirty times to make a habit, she wouldn't be writing anything other than Svetlana Jane Overlander for a long time.

It was like a tight-pressed spring being loosened. The doctor's shoulders visibly eased, coming down in a concealed sigh of relief when she saw that her matter of concern was understood. Elizabeth nodded and proceeded to a nearly door in the hallway, reaching out a hand as though to say "this way, please". Lana followed in step with her, letting her lead her into the room. The first thing that got her attention was not the man in the room, who looked suspiciously familiar, but the fact that, sadly, the room was identical to the one she was in prior to now – right down to the rapidly flickering fluorescent light: too fast to see the flickering, but slow enough to create a rather dizzying sensation. So identical, in fact, that for a long moment, she stopped to wonder if they made a circle and came back to the same room, the man inside changing places with someone other.

Entering the room hesitantly, Sveta – as her mother had preferred calling her, contrary to the suffix nickname her father chose to use – looked around, noting not much of interest but the rather plump man, also in his thirties, standing in the middle of the room, looking deeply engrossed in thought, a strain of struggle creasing his forehead into lines. Unlike the other two people she had been properly introduced to, the man was in very much casual wear: a sky-blue T-shirt with a high neckline and what looked to her to be a cross between sweatpants and jeans. Even slouching, leaning on one hand on the uniform metal table in the center of the room, he still stood nineteen centimeters taller than her – although as of late, it seemed every single person she met was taller than her. She wouldn't consider herself short, but her meter-sixty was rather sad compared to even the other members of her family.

Lana looked at him for a few seconds, squinting as she tried to figure out the cause of that nagging gut feeling of familiarity. "Ms. Overlander, please let me introduce you to Dr. Rodney McKay; he is the head of our science department."  _That's_  where she knew him from! Of course he would be here; after all, Dr. Weir did say they were looking for the best and brightest. And there were few people to match him when it came to that aspect. A bright smile crossed her features at the familiar face – however much a stranger he really was.

She reached an eager hand out for him to shake as he looked up. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. McKay." Her voice radiated admiration as she spoke to the man in front of her, smiling widely. "I'd been to every one of your seminars; your work is truly inspiring. Your theories about hybrid engines drives are amazing," she beamed, finally getting the chance to meet one of her idols.

She couldn't believe she actually met him in person! She'd been to every seminar, read every book and dissertation front to back, highlighting, underlining and folding every sentence and page she deemed important – which really was every sentence. She had all of his recordings on her iPod and laptop, but unfortunately for her – and very much fortunately for the poor man – she never once had the chance to speak with him. Her greatest dream over the recent years was to introduce her theories to him – however much she was sure they had occurred to him long ago. But as much as she tried, she never got the chance to see him in private – generally to litter him with an avalanche of questions she had been storing up for seven years.

"Oh, well… what else can you expect from someone as smart as me, hm?" he asked, no one in particular really, lifting his chin slightly to the left in selfish pride. His voice was slightly sing-song; a tingle of arrogance mixed in with the air of accomplishment filled his tone.

Dr. Weir smiled in amusement at the new recruit's enthusiasm in meeting McKay. She highly doubted the excitement would remain in place after two weeks of working with the man. He may have been a genius in his own right, but this man could be insufferable when he became arrogant. Refraining from shaking her head, she returned them both to the task at hand. But before she could, Lana spoke up, turning to face her. "Dr. Weir, this project you were talking about… will I have to opportunity to expand further on my project and theories while working here?" The woman gave her a nod.

"You will have much more than that: I think you'll find it very insightful and a valid experience in your research and provide you with opportunities so unmatched, there are… almost out of this world," she said with a knowing smile, exchanging a glance with Dr. McKay. Refraining from laughing at her pun, she once again schooled her expression. The two knew something - she didn't, and Lana knew it. But whatever it was, she didn't care much for it. If she can bring her dream to life and not only expend, but get the chance to built her AI, as well as develop any applications coming with it – such as the neural control interface – she wouldn't pass the chance. She could nearly  _feel_  the waves of opportunity and chance to learn more about what she does than she had ever hopped in that single sentence. This was her chance to do what she knew she loved still in the womb, and she can create something her own, proving that she is not a stupid woman that so many had labelled her on sight.

She wanted this – she knew it at once. She wanted to work with the best and brightest; she wanted to learn all she can, and she could feel her thirst quench with the opened possibility of all this. The lust and hunger for the exploration of the unknown and discovery of the new was an unmistakable, red-hot flame in her eyes, burning brightly as a dying star.

"Dr. Weir, if you are willing to take me on… I would be  _honored_  to work here, with your team." Seeing the confidence with which she stood, tall and proud for her small complexion, Elizabeth smiled. She definitely needed people like that: just as knowledge-hungry and eager to learn all that can be learned as she, loving their job with all their heart. Rising her head in authority, Dr. Weir clasped her hand to hers, shaking it in approval.

This was one of the best parts about her job: seeing the beautiful young minds of these beautiful, brilliant people open up to the possibilities that science, as well as this facility, had to offer. Each and every person she has spoken to was gifted in their own way, their mind so eager for this new found knowledge and opportunity she was offering them. The light in the eyes of the woman standing in front of her was possibly the greatest prize in all of this. "You have a one month probation period to prove yourself capable of the task assigned to you," Dr. Weir announced officially – she took pride in her job; at times like these more than ever. "Svetlana Overlander… welcome aboard."


	2. Break Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I very much hoped, the story was well, so I am continuing it into a proper, multi-chapter fanfiction! Anyway, first I'd like to thank those who took the time to leave me a review, favorite, or follow me and the story – thank you, guys.
> 
> Secondly, this chapter is more focused on Lana and who she is as a character and as a person. We get a little background on her, but she does not meet her future coworkers just yet. She'll get to see the Gate for the first time some time during the nest two chapters – depending on how impatient I am, he-he. Please be patient with me, because this part is just as important as anything in the story. After all, she's only just been hired - not even that; she's only on a sort of 'trial'. Please bear with me, guys!
> 
> Onwards, please enjoy:

The ghostly still silence was broken by the thunderous creaking of an old wooden door sliding open lazily, the hinges protesting to the movement loudly as Lana shoved it from its frame. It whined angrily at her, the swollen wood keeping it stiff and rigid in its place. It was a sudden disturbance to the otherwise deathly silent, cool house. The heating system broke a good two month prior, but Lana had neither the time nor will to fix it, preferring to wear an extra layer of clothing rather than take a wall apart to find the problem and eliminate it.

With an exasperated, tiresome groan she pushed past the heavy door, into the house and nearly slammed it shut; the sound of It hitting the doorframe echoing through the empty rooms as she leaned her weight against it. It shook beneath her back, from the force with which it was closed as she groaned loudly. It has been too long since she could allow herself to relax.

"Well… that's over with," she huffed in frustration, her voice a slight breath as she threw her head back at the door. It hit the wood with a distinct yet somewhat dull thud and she winced in pain before adding "at long last," under her breathe, cranking her head from side to side and groaning in relief as she heard it crack. The tension slipped from her very much stiff neck instantly, drawing a soft sigh from her lips.

Even three hours later her hand still hurt from all that paperwork they had her do. To think it was all done and over with. But no: as soon as she took the job offer, more stapled booklets which she was forced to read through cover to cover – with multiple signature lines on every page – were shoved into her unprepared hands. Of course they all inevitably said the same thing in dozens of different ways: should she utter a word of what she had seen, she would quickly find herself not only without a job, but behind prison bars. This was to be expected, of course, but the fact that she knew what was coming didn't make the experience any more pleasant.

Distantly, she recalled the conversation she had with Dr. Weir. She would be on a one month long probation as they test her skills and worth. Should she prove as resourceful and skilled as she says, they would keep her. If not, she would return to her job at the CIA to continue working on her own projects. Dr. McKay spoke words of how interesting her ideas were, that she had potential in all of this – whatever 'this' was. There was little she was told of her job, only being informed that whatever came her way, she should not question it: simply comply to what she is told to do with the information she is given. As instructed, she did not question this, instead nodding in understanding and confirmation.

After she signed everything she was required to, and some more talks with Dr. Weir, her could-be boss, a soldier drove her home. Closing her eyes, she turned her head until her ear was pressed to the door as she remembered his words to her:

Lana turned around, giving a smile of gratitude to the soldier who had given her a ride home – he introduced himself as Jeremy Connor – saluting him in his superior status in the military. She was no soldier, but with her dad high up the military rack chain, she knew well to respect those with more authority. "Thanks for the ride," she told him with a nod. "Hope I wasn't trouble much." The young solder shook his head with a good-natured smile, waving off her concern.

"Just doing my job, ma'am," he told her. "You'll be picked up at six tomorrow; have your things ready by then."

Lana gave a confirming, "Yup; will do, sir," in reply as she closed the heavy door, the muscles on her upper arms straining as she tried to move the door of the large army van. Connor, as he had told her to call him, waved a hand at her in a "wait" gesture before clarifying an aspect he had forgotten to cover sooner.

"They'll be picking you up and dropping you off every day until you secure a position on base, so you might want to get used to the blindfold for a while," he alerted her. She resisted the grunt of disappointment, trapping it in her throat as she gave her quiet, exhausted reply.

"Yeah, I kinda figured: top secret and all that." The window was rolled up and the camouflage green jeep rolled out of the large semi circle driveway, which curled around the back of the vast house, around to the front of the premises. Lana watched it disappear behind the corner, standing still as the sound of the angry engine faded into the distance.

She remained standing outside for some time longer, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, letting her head fall back, her face turned up at the dark sky. The sun had not set quite yet, but it was later in the evening than she anticipated it would be when she got back. Compared to the night sky at her mother's country home, few to no stars would be visible once night fell, she had thought idly; the city air and bright lights blocking them all from view. The memory of the clear country air filled her mind and Lana wrinkled her nose in disgust at the suddenly thick, unnaturally sweet scent of the large city as the smell of chlorine water filled her lungs. Living her whole life in similar places she was no stranger to such smell and rarely paid it mind. But once out in the country, getting a taste of the fresh forest smell, the city reeked of exhaust fumes for days to her, before she got used to it once more.

Dismissing the thought, she took a deep breath, curling her hands into fists, and held it until she could no more. Letting it go heavily , she let her mind relish at the idea of that she now had the job in her pocket, so to speak. Her pride sang out to the world as she thought about Dr. Weir's words to her. She really was a brilliant mind and not at all too modest to embrace the fact – Lana took pride in what she did. She loved her job and she loved that it was being recognized and appreciated. A small smile crossed her lips at the small fangirl moment she allowed herself when meeting Dr. Rodney McKay. She wasn't lying in her claim of it being an honor. Even hours later she still could not fathom the possibility that she could be working under his command, what with him being the head of the science department – which included her department as well, as she was told.

She had to force her mind to wander away from that train of thought, but was unsuccessful in doing so as she shrugged off her tan leather jacket, hanging it up in the closet in the small lobby. The floorboards creaked underneath her feet as she wandered in distantly, her mind elsewhere, letting her feet skillfully guide her through the simple two-bedroom home. It was nothing fancy, really, despite her mother's offer to pay half the rent. She would not have it, of course. How could she, after her parents had paid what scholarship s did not cover? She was a responsible adult, and was set on acting so – if only for her parents. The old place was nothing to gloat about but it had that old, homey feel to it – small and affordable, and very much cozy. It was comparable to that old teddy bear you'd grow out of by age twelve, but keep for the rest of your life, not having the heart to part with it.

The one thing disturbing her about it was the basement. Having never entered it, she knew not what she would find down there, but it was cold, the smell of mold hovering in the air uneasily. It had a haunting feel to it, leaving the door to the staircase closed at all times. But the rest of the house was neat and tidied – the result of the scarce amount of time she spent there. Albeit, the lack of care provided left the paint on the walls faded, the hinges loud, and the counters chipped in places. Nonetheless, it was her home.

Of all the rooms in the house – which were few – she took exceptional pride in her office. Once a bedroom, she had converted it to her lab. The room was filled with computers and machinery. It was her personal little batcave, only with less water and rock walls and more buzzing of electricity and blinking lights, and soft humming of generators and coolers. Although the sounds were all soft as a mother's lullaby, it was the noisiest room in the house – the busiest and the most power-consuming. Ironically yet obviously, it was the only place she could fall asleep peacefully, the sounds of technology lulling her to oblivion.

Her house keys clattered loudly against the countertop as she tossed them. They slid, hitting the wall with a jingle as she moved to the refrigerator, pulling it open just as her stomach growled at her angrily once more. She hushed it, barking out for the traitor to be quiet as she took out the spaghetti from the previous day, sticking the glass bowl in the microwave for re-heating. As her dinner was preparing, she reached up to one of the white, stained cupboards lining the wall above the sink, grabbing the box of chocolates, and pulled one out. Now that she lived alone, she had no one to worry about, when it came to her daily supply of sugar. There was no sister to steal it and no strict father to scold when she took too much. Everyone was entitled to their share of sweets and she was no exception to that rule.

With her hunger – both for food and for chocolate – quenched, her stomach no longer painfully grumbling its frustration at her, she stuck the now empty glass bowl in the dishwasher and did a quick cleaning of the table and counter, putting the keys away into their proper drawer and checked the time on the stove. The neon green numbers read a little past seven in the evening. At last: it had been one of the longest days of her life; she was tired, but at least it was a good tired: the tiredness that comes after a productive day of hard work. It was tiredness she learned long ago to welcome and appreciate; it was the feeling of accomplishment.

Lana absently made her way to her room, her now-bare feet guiding her down the path well known and she closed her eyes as she slowly found her way to her bed, her slight hand tracing the wall to her right for guidance. Shedding her day clothes, she tossed the black tank top and grey-blue skinny jeans into the woven laundry bin in her doorless closet. She didn't know why the door was absent: it was already gone when she moved in. This was much better, she thought to herself, half in dream, as she picked her tablet lying next to her double bed off the floor and tossed it lazily on her pillow. It slid right off, into the crease between the thick blanket and the pillow. From the bedside table she snatched up her phone and slumped down on the bed on her front, her body feeling like jelly as she lay on the soft, warm covers in her undergarments.

She was no lazy person, but she missed it so, just lying on her bed after a long day of hard work – or in this case, a very important and stress-inducing interview at a top secret military base she had no clearance for even seeing. So she gave herself the luxury of a few moments before flipping herself over onto her back and finding her favorite phone number on the speed-dial. There were four long, buzzing beeps before the person on the other end of the line answered her cell phone.

"Hello?" Although having talked to Nina a mere week prior, the woman sounded older yet again – much as she has for the past eight months. With every phone call her voice grew deeper and more tired, but the sheer love and adoration in it kept it as alive as ever, like a wind chime in a cool summer breeze.

"You'll never in a million years guess what happened today!" Lana all but shouted to her sister, her voice high and shrill, thick with the excitements she was struggling to contain as she thought about her day.

"Hello; how are you? I'm good, too, thanks for asking," the woman on the other end mocked, poorly faking a tone of hurt, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Lana gave a light, breezy laugh, as though to wave it off casually.

"How are you, big sis?" she complied, letting Nina guide her through the proper order of conversation.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking. By the sound of your voice, you're fine, too." The smile in her voice was unmistakable and Lana's glee grew further in anticipation to tell Nina everything she could.

"Yes I am; and how is my will-be nephew? Still giving you a hard time?" she questioned, turning to her side and lifting her arm to support her head with her hand. The mattress sagged under the shifting weight, the springs beneath her creaking softly.

"He certainly takes after dad," Nina told her, laughing as she did so. "I think he's doing weight-training in here; he's been kicking me all day today! He's probably just getting restless is all," she explain, and Lana could easily see her polar-opposite of a sister stroking her ever-growing belly, placing a gentle hand on where her son's hand or foot may meet her palm. With every time Lana saw her, the woman seemed to glow brighter with light that the time previous. Every trip to her house, or video chat session added to the tiredness and strain in her face, but kept it glowing with the purity of a mother's love for her unborn child.

"Well he's a fighter, that one," the red-head agreed eagerly, laughing joyously along with the older woman. It was good to hear her sister laugh. It was a loveable, alive ring, like a delicate bell in the wind; it had always reminded Lana of Spring – ironically so, as Nina's favorite season was autumn.

"Ok: so what's the big news of the century?"

"I had a job interview," Lana announced proudly, lifting her chin in superiority as she informed Nina of her achievement. The woman in question took a second to answer.

"I thought you already had a job?"

"Well I did, but I took an extended leave. With my funding temporarily cut, I thought I could take a break to go see you. But then I got a call from my agent. So today I had an interview! And guess who I met?! Seriously, when I first saw him, I almost half expected someone to jump out from behind the door shouting "SIKE!" at me and sticking a camera in my face! But it's for real!"

"Ooookay…?" the uncertain voice of Nina came through the phone as Lana flipped over once more, onto her back, and pushed herself farther down the bed until her head was hanging over the opposite edge. She spread her fiery curls out, letting the hand loosely over the bed, brushing the carpeted floor.

She bit her lip in giddiness before squealing, "Dr. Rodney McKay! I personally met Dr. McKay! Can you believe it?! I was like totally freaked when I saw him! At first I was all like 'is this some kind of practical joke?', but then my interviewer toll me that I am on probation! Can you believe it? Not only am I on probation in this place, but Dr. McKay is basically my trainer! And apparently, if I get the job, he'll be my boss!"

The silence on the other end was painful and long and dead, as though Nina had been holding her breath. "Dr. Rodney McKay, as in the Dr. Rodney McKay? The guy you were babbling my ears off about your entire adult life? Rodney McKay as in the one who hosted and spoke at all those seminars you went to? The author of half the dissertations and books and technological research material you own?" Judging by her tone, she was hard-pressed to believe not just Lana, but the words coming out of her own mouth.

Lana nodded eagerly, forgetting that Nina couldn't see her. "Yes! And you will never believe this: he read my work!"

"No," was all the woman in question could say.

"Yes!" the red-head exclaimed, turning over to her stomach and leaning on her right elbow on the edge of the bed to support her chin; she moved her phone around her face to take it with her right hand, supporting it with her big and index fingers. "And he said it was interesting! One of the smartest, most successful people in the science world told me – personally, mind you – that my research had a lot of potential! Dr. Weir – the woman that interviewed me – said it was the closest he's come to being impressed with someone else's intelligence!"

"Wow… if I didn't know better I'd say you were just slapped in the face with Christmas, New Year, Orthodox Christmas and New Year, and every other holiday in existence!" the blonde on the other end of the line mocked, laughing as she did so. But the pride in her voice was unmistakable.

Unconsciously, Lana began chewing on her pinky nail, curling the other two fingers on her right hand to reach the clear coat of the nail polish on the small nail better. It was bitter on her tongue, but certainly tasted better than all those erasers her teeth had demolished.

"Well I was! Do you have any idea how much a job like this can offer me – how much I can learn? This is a chance of a lifetime – Dr. Weir's words, not just mine. I can learn so much from him and from the people I'll be working with," she explained impatiently, twisting around on the bed once again when, too quickly, her right arm fell asleep. She sat up to turn, and then plopped back down on her back, hair flying in every direction as she dropped her feet on the headboard over her pillow.

"If I can get him to look at some of my theories and blueprints, maybe he can help me out some – notice my mistakes and point them out for me. With a second eye looking over at least some of my stuff – an eye as smart as his, for that matter – I can make tremendous breakthroughs. You know I've been having difficulties lately," Lana told her, her voice rising on the last word to exaggerate her point further. This was not only a dream of hers, but the chance of – as her interviewer had so accurately put it – a lifetime. Thinking back now, she did consider herself fortunate for it.

"So you'll be working under your very figure of inspiration while I'm stuck on a leave, sitting at home all day with nothing to do? I don't see how it's fair at all," Nina huffed distantly into the phone. Lana gave a full-hearted laugh, arching her back off the soft sheets to easier throw her head back.

"You're calling deciphering ancient glyphs of long lost civilizations boring? Damn girl: you need a new job," she joked lightly, teasing the older of the two sisters as she stuck the tip of her tongue past her teeth. "You got them keeping you busy, no?" There was along, heavy sigh – more of a groan, really – and the techy had to assume her sister had sat down, the extra weight she'd been carrying for the past eight months bringing her down for a break.

"I need to be somewhere deciphering these," Nina told her with a heavy grunt, the rustling of paper in the background giving away what she was looking at. "Not looking at photos; it's not the same and you know it. It's artificial, you know?" The woman's tone was thick with complaint, a high-pitched whine in her voice conveying her displeasure with her home-bound position all too well. "And here you call, gloating about getting a new job at yet another exclusive…" She paused for a little and Lana waited for Nina to realize she never got the place the technician would be working at. "… Where are you going to work, again?"

"Finally you get it. Slow day much?" the young woman teased jokingly, sticking her tongue out at the phone "And I don't know: these agents came in and had me sign all these papers before blindfolding me and putting me in their car. Whoever's hiring me, they don't want me to know what I'll be doing before I start doing it." Silence was her response, and she gave Nina the time to come to the conclusion without personally compromising anything.

As expected, the wait wasn't long.

"You were called for by the military?" The shrill ring in the blonde's voice made Lana cringe away as she turned again on the bed, sitting up and crossing her legs Indian style in front of her. Wrapping the fingers on her free hand securely around her ankles, she rocked back and forth as though on a swing as she spoke.

"I didn't say that," the woman with a too-young face replied calmly, innocently. "But the amount of papers they made me sign was through theroof! I think I became allergic to my full name after all those signatures that were required for me to even speak to any of them, let along look at them!" The frustration in her voice was as clear as the summer sky of New Mexico, there was no argue there, but in the undertones was something else – something the blonde of the other end knew well: wonder. It was a deepening, indentifying, ever-growing thirst for knowledge – the exploration of what is unknown.

"So the military brats find you in that edge-of-the-world of a town – when, by the way, you could have just as easily gotten a beach-view two-story in New Jersey as I had told you to – and dragged you out to some classified location for a job interview? Wow; if they fished you out of that population-six-thousand town you live in you must seem pretty special to them… specially if one of the smartest people on Earth has given you this weird form of a compliment," Nina snorted as Lana shifted in bed again, falling forwards with her face on the pillow and her legs spewed behind her numbly.

The woman in question grunted into the fabric before turning her face to the left to speak. "Well I'm just that fabulous, you know? It's impossible not to love me," she chirped in a sing-song, yet somewhat husky voice, rough around the edges but very provocative all the same. She grinned, showing off her pearly white to the ceiling, the teenage face she had yet to outgrow gleaming with selfish pride.

"And who could blame them, really, for finding me, huh? Dr. Weir did say she was looking for the best and brightest. And seeing as I was in the top five on her list of recruits as well as the youngest, it should bump me up a few levels. After all, that does mean that I had accomplished a lot more in much less time, don't you think?" Her voice was high and childish, her face, though unseen by her interlocutor, melting into her trademark 'holier than thou' expression of intellectual superiority.

"You are just so full of yourself," Nina accused playfully, her tone light and mocking, a small laugh escaping past her lips as she spoke to her baby sister. "You think you're so impressive?" she challenged, and Lana could hear the distinct smirk in her voice.

"I am so impressive!" the ginger protested, defending her honor as she sat up in her bed sharply, her back straight as a stick as she lifted her chin to stare down her nose. "Really: what's not to love?"

"Let me get my list," was Nina's retort, the words dragged out, definite, and strictly pointed. Both women snickered full-heartedly. Lana rocked back on her bed, falling lightly backward, as though dropping into a cloud or a warm pool of water, letting her limbs relax into the soft sheets, only to have her head hit the backboard with a dull, distinct thud. A sharp pain exploded into a brilliant starburst behind her tightly shut lids as she cried out a loud "ow!" as she scratched the aching crown of her head. She squirmed when the tip of her head stung upon contact with her chewed-down, dull nails. Lana tried to take a deep breath, but her attempts to settle the sharp pain faded to useless when she heard Nina burst into uncontrollable laughter in her ear.

"Shut up: it frikin hurt!" the technician protested, a small growl erupting from her throat out of pain as she nursed her wound. Already, she could feel a small mound on the back of her head, which would cause her a great headache in a displeasingly short amount of time. Then she realized she had fallen back right on the now forgotten tablet which she had intended to use to check her email, and sat up sharply, digging it from under the blanket to carefully place it on the old, worn, coffee brown carpet, patting it like a puppy, muttering "I'm sorry, baby," under her breath as she did so.

There was commotion on the other end of the line, as though a phone was being put down, and a voice she has come to not only recognize, but appreciate, and even love – which had been a rarity to the point of extinction since the day Nina had begun to bring men home.

"Hey there, love." A rather feminine giggle came from Nina, and Lana could hear her sister kissing her husband lovingly. She rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. She deserved it, she mused idly to herself, thinking back to a few years ago, when she stood in the most breathtaking bridesmaids dress in history, behind her beauty goddess of a sister as the blonde said her vows to the love of her life. It was a good day – the best, save from the evening she got a call from said woman who, in turn, informed her of her recent pregnancy.

Lana had called bluff, not believing that she would soon be an aunt; but the sheer, pure adoration and glowing happiness in her older sister's voice was too real to presume a deception. There wasn't a day in her memory on which she was any happier.

"Lana, honey," Nina's voice came through the speaker, "I gotta go. The boys are demanding immediate attention."

"Well then tell the boys they can wait: you have a sister on the line – one which is in line for a new job with possibly some of 'the best and brightest' that the US army could conjure up."

"Hey, Lana, you got a job? Thought you were on leave, no?" The woman in question smiled at the voice of her in-law brother.

"No, I'm on probation. They wanna test my skills, see what I can do, whether I'm as good as I claim to be."

"Well then doncha disappoint 'em, girl!"

"You know me, David: I never disappoint," she argued, her voice thick with confidence.

"Yeah, you mean like that apple pie you promised me on my last birthday?" the older man taunted, teasing her cooking skills – which had left something to be desired on her best days.

"Oh shut up, Dave: I warned you that I wasn't much of a kitchen person. What, it's my fault now that mom never taught me to cook?"

"Oh yeah: it's my fault," David mocked, and she couldn't but imagine him rolling his eyes dismissively at her, crossing his arms over his chest as he shamelessly chuckled on the other side of the States. "Think ya burned my taste buds; still can't taste everything!" the man complained, making shameless fun of Lana's improvable kitchen skill set. The woman, in turn, let out a small, warning growl from between slightly parted lips, her eyebrows knitting together. "Alright there, tiger; sit." David laughed in the distance, his voice far away in her ear as she heard a slapping sound, followed by the man's complaining "Ow!" and Lana had to assume Nina had smacked her husband. She shook her head, smiling brightly to herself as she envisioned the scene—a young woman, rounded with a new life, her beloved sitting nonchalant on the arm of the old couch they held in their living room, laughing full heartedly – and shamelessly – at his in-law kid sister.

"Look, guys, I gotta hang up now – gotta pack for tomorrow and all, you know? I'll call you Thursday, 'k?" Lana confessed, her expression as well as her voice falling as she fished her tablet from its place on the floor. The tiny computer now safely on her lap, she fell back lazily, a small sigh escaping her and she let out a loud, tired yawn.

They said their goodbyes and the red headed woman hung up, placing the phone on the bedside table under the window and stretching out comfortably on the single bed. A smirk came across her lips as she remembered wanting a king-sized bed when she was little. Now a bed of such size brought on nothing but the feeling of cold and loneliness, as well as made her skin crawl in fear of what kind of vile creature might hide under a bed that large.

Finding the tablet on the floor, she picked it up, checking over her email, deleting what was junk and answering what needed to be answered, before deciding on a quick, cold shower. Once clean, her hair blow dried and left in a mess of a bun at the top of her head—not bothering to brush the untamable mane, she returned to her room, looking around with both hands resting lightly on her hips as she tried to decide what to pack. Given the distance from the base to her house, she was informed that she would be renting out a motel room a half hour's drive away. It was as far from a preferable living arrangement as it could get, in her mind's eye, but it was better than having to get up at four in the morning and spend the next three hours in a car with a tie around her eyes.

She dug a small, old, baby blue roller suitcase from under her bed, which was only hidden under there to take up as much empty space as possible, and went to her closet, taking the first half a dozen or so shirts her hands had reached, taking them out and tossing them carelessly into the case, not bothering to see where they landed. In the dim light in the room, the only source being the overhead door light of the neighboring house, seeping through the open window as nigh had already fallen – the temperature dropping considerably to match the darkness – she found herself a couple pairs of worn out jeans, half of which had once belonged to Nina, and tossed them in with the shirts. Turning around, she stuffed the clothing deeper into the suitcase, making space for the other necessities she'd need for the next week before she would be allowed to come back home.

In the bathroom she found her female fundamentals, as well as the basic bathroom equipment which had all already been neatly packet into a round, silver bathroom kit. Once that, as well as a few pairs of shoes – a pair of worn out, grey sneakers, a pair of black high heel ankle boots, and a pair of brand new, brown all star converse – were in their place, she shoved the case close, zipping it up safely and took it down the hall to the living room, huffing as she dropped it on the floor. The wooden floorboard creaked in protest under the new weight and she shushed them in exasperation, a pale finger pressed tightly to her equally pale lips.

Lana brushed a fallen strand out of her face, jerking her head to the side as she did so, to flick it away. Briefly, she wondered if she really should just cut it all to save her the troubles of pulling half of it out while brushing it in the morning. But the memory of last time was fresh in her mind the next moment and she realized that should she really do it, she'd be missing the long hair the next week.

Then her eyes darted around, taking in every inch of the living room—the old couch, which had been more her bed than the bed itself, the washing machine of a TV – a big box sitting in the center of the west wall, gathering dust as the days go by – the beige wallpaper, relatively new compared to the majority of the house, the uncarpeted, dark parquet floor, so cold beneath her bare feet yet so quickly heating, the brand new, thick, woolen curtains, which had been given to her by David on her last birthday as a replacement to the plastic shutters, brushing the floor just barely… the empty space in between.

She stared, every detail burning into her brain – the coffee stains, the fake flowers, the oil painting – as though she might never see this house, which had somehow become as close to home as she could remember anything being over the past five years. It's only for a week or two, she told herself, more to convince herself of this than to state a fact, and then they'd bring her back. But it still felt wrong. Working up the country from where she lived, she'd been away from home a week at a time—the company covered the flight costs—leaving was not news. Still, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that came at the realization that no one would be there to watch over the old place in her absence made her shiver beneath the thin pink tank top she wore, the goose bumps on her arms rising not in cold, but in nervousness.

For half a decade now, this has been her home—unmoving, constant, dependable. It was a roof over her head on which she could count on to always be there, unlike the rest of her life. With her mother living on the other side of the Atlantic, being tugged around back and forth between Russia and the States—between her mother and father—this was the first place that had some stability to it. Leaving it always left her feeling naked and vulnerable.

A soft smile found its place of her lips as she gazed around herself, taking in the details of the house that had somehow become her safety blanket of security. She'd miss it, as she always did, in her time of absence.

Making her way slowly down the narrow corridor back to her room, her slight hands ghosting over the walls with a gentle, almost nonexistent touch, taking in the rough surface of the wallpaper, how it was almost like sandpaper, scraping her fingertips. How had she come to love it, this place that was old enough to be her great-grandfather?

Fetching her cell phone from the wooden dressing table, she set an alarm to five in the morning and shoved it into the pocket of her sweatpants before leaving the bedroom, taking a step directly across the hall to her office. Instantly, she was welcomed by the soft, barely audible hum of cooling routers and electricity—keeping the room alive twenty-four-seven.

Getting into the small wheeled chair, she turned on one monitor after another, bringing the room out of its sleep, and started working, her fingers playing the multiple keyboards like a piano – ironic, considering she didn't know how to play. Blue eyes darting back and forth, from screen to screen, reading a language she knew better than English, she made herself busy. Now with the few possessions she had chosen to pack waiting at the front door, she had all the time she wanted.

In the back of her mind was the interview from earlier in the day, the questions she had been asked, the answers she had given, and she wondered if it were not enough, if she could have said something different, better. Did they like her? Did she pass? Would they take her on? Moreover, would they appreciate her work? More than enough times she had encountered sexism in her workplace; the glances the men were shooting her bringing her mood down considerably. Was it not enough that she had finished school at sixteen, with enough scholarships to cover half of her post-secondary education? Was it not enough that her first real job—real profession—was in the world's largest office center? Was it not enough that the CIA had taken such keen interest in a girl of barely twenty-two? Has she not done enough to prove herself more that worthy and more than capable?

A new workplace, new coworkers, new people, new everything. Would this be a repeat of every office she has every worked in? She feared so – it was inevitable. She was a big girl, she could stand for herself, hold her place and prove them wrong—she'd done it so many times. But would she really have to deal with it for the rest of her life, always being underestimated and doubted?

The night came, bringing a chill into the house but the warmth radiated by the machines in the room kept her comforted. The hours went by, each one blending hazily into the next and, before long, her fingers red and aching from the amount of keys pressed, her eyes red and stinging from the bright light of the screens, she dozed off, her thoughts consumed with what tomorrow would bring her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a review to let me know what you think! I want to know the likes, the dislikes, the prizes and the criticisms, want-to-see – Everything! What did I do well at, what can I improve, what are your predictions/hopes for chapter three? Please let me know!
> 
> Have a wonderful day/night!
> 
> Oh and one more thing: do you prefer the chapters to be this average length, or should I make them longer? Because I can simply put two chapter in one to provide more read per post ;)


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